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“Wh…Wait. Where are you going? What’s happening?”
I’m practically hyperventilating as I watch her scrambling to get away.
She’s ignoring me as she continues gathering up her things.
“You can’t be leaving. We haven’t even had dinner.” In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s our server headed our way with our plates.
Nadia rises to her feet, looking as flustered as I feel. “I was trying to do this the nice, friendly way. But since you’re being difficult, don’t bother. We can take this up with a judge.”
“But—” I scoot my chair out, starting to get up. “But how will you—”
Nadia’s hand shoots forward, in her no nonsense way. “I’ll get my own ride home. You don’t need to worry about me. Thank you very much.”
I fall back into my seat, watching miserably as my wife storms out of the restaurant.
The server is now standing next to the table with a perfectly straight face, like he didn’t just witness my date running out on me. “I have a gnocchi bolognese with braised short rib,” he announces proudly.
“That’s mine,” I answer reluctantly, watching as he sets down my order in front of me.
“And I have the wild mushroom-crusted chicken.”
“I guess that’s mine, too,” I grumble.
Fuck it all to hell.
29
NADIA
Fuzzy socks and ratty pajamas.
I crawl onto my couch with a box of tissues and pull a blanket around my shoulders. My body feels like I got beat up by the world today.
But the truth is, I’m the one who hurt myself. And I hurt Harry; I think that’s the part that’s nagging me the most.
I somehow managed to keep myself together at the office today, only slipping into the washroom twice to blot my misty eyes. But I’ve been a big fucking mess since I walked in the door from work, breaking down into a blubbering mess the second I kicked off my shoes on the front mat. It took me a whole half hour to cry it all out and get myself together.
I thought I knew who I was. Nadia Chester.
Lawyer. Volunteer. Daughter. Sister. Friend.
Smart and strong and independent.
Then this charming, virginal, too-damn-young-for-me football player strolled onto the scene and now I’m questioning everything. One unforgettable night together and now, I’m having a full-blown existential crisis on my couch, surrounded by snotty tissues.
Focus, Nadia. Focus.
There’s a stack of files on the table beside the couch. I really need to get some work done tonight. But when I open up my laptop, my brain refuses to cooperate. Each time I rein it in, it roams back to Harry. To that look on his face when he begged me for just one kiss.
I’m not the crazy one. He is.
He’s insane, thinking we could save a marriage we drunkenly stumbled into without even knowing each other. That’s not logical. It’s…insane.
…So why the hell do I want to be insane right along with him?
Now, my mind is working overtime, trying to make sense of what I feel. I like Harry. A lot. I’m still trying to figure out when exactly the gigantic shift occurred. When did I evolve from turning down every single on of his come-ons to where I’m at now—not being able to think straight whenever I see Harry’s kissable lips?
“No, Nadia. You don’t really want him,” I mumble to myself. “You don’t care about him. And by god—you arenotin love with him. You aren’t. You just…aren’t.” Except…
